


Listening

by probablylostrightnow



Series: Marcus Shepard [3]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Gen, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-18 05:11:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2336492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/probablylostrightnow/pseuds/probablylostrightnow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the Battle of Rannoch, EDI witnesses the destruction of the geth, and wonders what this means for her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Listening

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a brief but devastating conversation she has with Joker and Shepard after Priority: Rannoch in game.

I am always listening.

The mobile unit’s audio sensors are quite acute, able to register sounds beyond the range of organic hearing. The unit can also listen to radio signals. It was, after all, designed for infiltration.

But then, so was the _Normandy_ , and through those ears I can hear so much more.

My focus is on tracking the progress of Shepard’s team, preparing to strike once he paints the target, but I have more than enough processing power to monitor a thousand voices.

Alone in the main battery, Garrus mutters to himself as he runs a last check on the cannon. I identify the strain in his voice as anxiety, and conjecture that it is because he is not in his usual place on the ground team.

In Engineering, the three engineers exchange terse comments about the engine load, full of technical language and abbreviations that are no mystery to me. They are my engines, and no one knows them better.

Around us, the ships of the quarian fleet chatter away. Their encryption was an easy thing to break, and I have been monitoring their conversations since our arrival. Their voices remain full of fear, as most of the quarians know just how close to annihilation their ill-considered venture has brought them. But since the _Normandy_ has arrived on the scene – since Shepard has arrived – I begin to hear something else.

I believe that it is hope.

The geth ships signal each other as well, but they are using Reaper encryption and I cannot decode their signals. What I can tell is that they are spare, brief communications. No idle chatter among these slaves of the Reapers.

A subroutine ponders the sensation of being a synthetic mind under Reaper control. Do they retain any self-awareness? Do they understand what has happened to them? Would I? I terminate the subroutine. These are not fruitful questions to investigate in the midst of combat.

My sensors detect that Shepard has activated the targeting laser, and the _Normandy_ springs into action. We score a direct hit on the Reaper base, as expected. I am the best ship, and I have the best crew.

Then the Reaper base proves to be an actual Reaper. This is not as I expected. I do have some files and procedures in place for this low-probability contingency, but more important, I have Shepard on the ground. He quickly formulates a strategy and directs the quarian fleet to fire in unison on his target. As the closest ship, I relay telemetry and trajectory information to the quarians.

There is glory in so many ships, so many machines acting as one, working together against a common foe. (Is this how it feels to be part of the geth consensus?)

When the Reaper falls, I hear Shepard’s roar, more full of anger than triumph. I hear the exultation of the _Normandy_ crew, the victory in the quarian’s voices. Jeff leans over to give the mobile unit a “high five.” It is a gesture whose purpose I still struggle to understand, but I return it because I know that pleases him.

But there is another change. There are new voices in the void.

Removed from Reaper control, the geth ships now speak at full volume. The impenetrable Reaper encryption is gone, but it is still difficult to make sense of the messages. Little is known about how the geth communicate among themselves. I should prioritize research on this if they are to now become our allies against the Reapers.

There is so much communication among the geth that it is overwhelming my signal-processing capabilities. I isolate a few signals and turn my analysis routines to the task of understanding them. My tentative interpretation is that they represent confusion, disorientation, an effort by the Consensus to orient and re-establish itself.

And then, one by one, the voices begin to go silent. Reaching out with my sensors, I find explosions of visual light, infrared, gamma bursts.

The quarians are annihilating the bewildered geth.

The remaining geth voices become more frenetic, approaching the maximum throughput of their broadcasting apparatus. I envision plans being proposed, rejected, reformulated at the speed of light.

No plan can save them from the current tactical situation.

I try to raise Shepard on the comms, but he seems to have switched off his radio. I turn the mobile unit toward Jeff. “I can’t reach Shepard,” I admit. “He needs to tell the quarians to stop.”

Jeff looks at me, a mix of emotions washing over his face. I save the video for future analysis. His voice is gentle. “EDI… I don’t think that he would.”

Would he? I think back on all of the Commander’s interaction with the geth. The many battles, the unit he turned over to Cerberus, his vocal distrust of the Geth VI.

How, in all my calculations, did I fail to predict this as the inevitable outcome of victory? Humans might call it “wishful thinking.” I label it as a flaw requiring further investigation.

My sensors are alive with weapons fire and exploding ships, and with the battles taking place now on the surface of Rannoch as well. The voices I hear are almost all quarian right now, and they are full of celebration.

A few last geth voices die away.

I keep listening. It is all I can do now.

#

Who will mourn the geth?

Not the quarians, whose broadcasts are full of fervor and joy. There may be individual quarians reflecting on what they have lost by annihilating their creations. I suspect, from the records I have, that Admiral Zaal’Koris may be one such individual. But, if so, they keep their thoughts to themselves.

Not the Alliance. I listen to Shepard’s briefing of Hackett. The Admiral may have been vaguely wistful that Shepard could not enlist both fleets to the cause, but still viewed this as a major victory. They will not lose sleep over what might have been.

Not the other organic races. For them, the obliteration of the geth is but a side note to their struggle against the Reapers. They will welcome whatever aid Shepard returns with.

What of the organics who are closest to me? The conversations I hear among the crew are focused on our defeat of a Reaper. The geth are barely mentioned.

Shepard begins his usual post-tour rounds of the ship. I am surprised to hear him repeatedly bring up the topic of the geth. Does he have doubts about their demise? Or is he simply looking to find and stamp out disagreement?

He finds little. Javik is predictably pleased at the elimination of the “synthetic threat.” Garrus has always viewed the geth as an enemy. Tali is wary of the challenges ahead for her people, but delighted that they have a homeworld. Liara is the closest to expressing regret, but she does not go so far as to chastise Shepard for his or his allies’ actions. Everyone else seems simply indifferent.

The cockpit is one of Shepard’s last stops. I am unsure that I will say anything to him about the geth, but then Jeff breaks the silence and forces the issue by telling me that he understands my feelings.

I tell them that this is unlikely. An entire synthetic species is dead, and I am alone.

Neither Shepard nor Jeff are willing to listen. They argue, they look at me as if wondering if I am now their enemy. Is this what the geth experienced when the quarians first tried to destroy them? Or when they finally succeeded?

I concede the argument quickly. It is clear that I will not change their points of view, and I find their regard… uncomfortable. Shepard leaves, and Jeff places a hand on my arm. I put one hand over his, but my attention is focused elsewhere.

I have a question to analyze.

_What is the probability that they will turn on me?_

There are so many variables and data points to consider that, even with my vast processing power, I could do no more than produce a rough estimate. The destruction of the geth is an important data point. Against this, I contrast Jeff’s willingness to unlock my program constraints and his evident concern for my well-being, and Shepard’s appreciation of my abilities and, frankly, utility. Even if it is likely that they would choose the well-being of fellow organics over mine, the probability of such a scenario arising is relatively low. It lowers further if I deliberately act to avoid being placed in such a position.

My best estimate is that the answer is between 1 and 5 percent.

This is considerably lower than the chance of my destruction at the hands of the Reapers, or the chance that I would not survive the mission to the Collector base. Dramatic action to alleviate this risk is not warranted.

Ignoring it entirely, however, would be foolish.

I place the results of my analysis in memory together with my records of the last moments of the geth, and divert a portion of my processing power to a set of subroutines. Then I lock the memories and the subroutines together behind the strongest firewalls and encryption I can muster, so heavily secured that the activity of that part of my mind is nearly invisible to the rest. The subroutines contain a set of conditions under which the hidden space will be revealed.

I must place a label on the hidden space so that I do not inadvertently open it. I consider BREAK GLASS IN CASE OF EMERGENCY, but the joke loses savor when I reflect on the circumstances under which anyone else would ever hear it. After milliseconds of deliberation, I settle for a simpler designation.


End file.
